


Serendipity

by melonsflesh



Series: For Richer or Poorer [5]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top!Yata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonsflesh/pseuds/melonsflesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Misaru] There were no such sickeningly sweet words in the dictionary they knew, but sometimes, Misaki wanted to flip through all of its pages and <i>burn them</i>.</p>
<p>Lately, Saruhiko’s taunts were the little push he needed. Just like tonight.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Or the one where Saruhiko rides Misaki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a thank you for putting up with me, I hope you enjoy this, this—which is what the tags say it is, basically. Also, Misaru, because Misaru is _-clenches fist-_. Yes.

“Hey, Saru. Wake up.”

“Hmm.”

“You awake?”

“I am,” Saruhiko drawled, in a way that suggested that yes, he was, and no, he wasn’t quite, but he had made his point.

“I can’t play like this.”

“Then don’t.”

“Tche, you’re so smart.” _And clingy, too,_ Misaki noted. “Isn’t the bed big enough for both of us—you’re crushing me.”

It might have been an overreaction from Misaki’s side, but Saruhiko didn’t even budge, and the redhead wanted to believe this wasn’t his way of showing any little hidden resentment, because the forearm across his throat felt rather heavier than before, and the pressure of Saruhiko’s chest against his right shoulder was starting to numb his arm, including the fingers holding the right side of his portable console. And he was going to need his fingers to defeat the next boss. Or bosses. Or to pinch his boyfriend’s arm, if he kept this up.

The closeness felt nice, though.

“You’re so dramatic,” Saruhiko’s voice was muffled against Misaki’s shirt. “Misaki’s all flesh—it’s more comfortable like this.”

“That’s because _I_ have to finish _someone_ ’s meals sometimes, because _someone_ happens to skip them all the time, idiot.”

“Not all the time,” Saruhiko spoke in a low whine, “but lucky me, then. It’s really useful to have you around, hm?”

“Right—you’re lucky I haven’t tied you to the table and made you have seconds yet. You don’t like my food or what?” Misaki asked without thinking, and before returning his attention to his game he noticed how the pressure on his throat and chest diminished, just a bit.

Saruhiko raised his head to stare at him, with his brow quirked up slightly and his eyes dropped, clearly unaccustomed to the only source of light coming from the desk lamp on Misaki’s nightstand, “Don’t expect me to say that’s kinky.”

“I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

Fortunately, Misaki was able to spend the next few minutes focused on his game in peace. Saruhiko had finally stopped moving and wiggling in his spot a while ago, and appeared to have fallen into some REM phase, even though his eyes didn’t seem to be moving at all. But who cared about that.

Not Misaki. He stayed silent, to play, and to think. Things. He thought, while smashing some buttons in an absentminded state and making his character shoot devastating fireballs at a horde of flying enemies, that someone should have given him an award for he had been considerate enough to turn the volume down to the minimum, because his earphones had broken a couple of hours ago —and he wasn’t that desperate to go out and try his luck on finding an open store nearby on a Sunday evening— and because he didn’t want to disturb Saruhiko’s rest —his before-nightfall-beauty-rest?— with his battles, and combos, and every single notification of every heroic achievement he got.

He then thought it was stupid, the award thing, because who wouldn’t do that for their partner. _If_ their partner wasn’t perhaps Fushimi Saruhiko, currently still one of SCEPTER 4’s prominent _whatever_ they liked themselves to be called, official dumbass in his spare time, somewhat light sleeper, vegetable-hater, and many other things.

He stopped thinking when Saruhiko started moving, _again_ , except that instead of crushing his ‘comfortable’ flesh with his arm, he nuzzled his head further into Misaki’s chest and let out what Misaki identified as a purr. Maybe.

Misaki didn’t expect that to be his boyfriend’s creative way of asking for another steak for tomorrow’s bentou, because he was not getting that.

Having come to terms with his helpless, romantic self, Misaki instinctively did the first delicate thing he could think of without really giving it a second thought, and sneaked a quick kiss on the top of Saruhiko’s head.

He regretted not having given it a second thought, though, because right after he resumed his game, Saruhiko abruptly revived from his slumber and lifted his head, _that bastard_ , and Misaki could feel the weight of his questioning eyes staring earnestly at him.

For one second. For two seconds.

“...”

Until he couldn’t count anymore and had to pause once more and glance at Saruhiko from the corner of his eyes, because Saruhiko’s gaze was too strong, too intense and fixed on him. And it was starting to creep him out, that perseverant attitude of his.

“W-what?” he finally asked.

“What was that?”

“What—I just kissed you.”

_Misaki was so dense sometimes_ , hence Saruhiko’s response. “Why?” He asked, with little to no emotion in his face; enough to slightly stir the redhead up.

_Saruhiko was so fucking dense sometimes_ , Misaki thought, trying to push the annoyance of feeling like a fool. “Do I always need a fucking reason for everything? Dunno why you make such a big deal out of it. It’s just a kiss.”

“No,” Saruhiko actually answered, because he did answer Misaki’s questions in his own way. His voice, reawakened, flowed with small signs of refreshed energy. “You don’t. In fact, you’re usually about _everything_ but reasonable, right? And—” he dared to choke back a chuckle, “excuse me, you still call that a kiss? Amazing, Misaki.”

“Sh-shut up! I—” Misaki hesitated for a moment, fighting the embarrassment he’d think would be already extinct by now, but regardless of how many times he had been through this, it seemed there were just not enough times.

_Well, all the more to keep trying, right._ “I just thought—” _Thought you wanted me to kiss you or tell you how much I... I love you? Dumbass?_ “Tch, forget it.”

There were no such sickeningly sweet words in the dictionary they knew. Sentences inebriated with oleaginous adjectives didn’t fit their tongues; sarcasm did. Cliché remarks didn’t usually cross their lips, unless they planned on mocking them, depriving them of the significance they had had over history.

Saruhiko’s tongue was as sharp as the blade of the knives he stored in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. Misaki was _usually_ better the less words were in between. And lately, Saruhiko’s taunts were the little push Misaki needed. Just like tonight.

Saruhiko remained silent, contemplative, until the realization was too pleasant for him to cage it and keep it to himself. “Oh.”

A mere vowel; that was all it took for him to relish in the way Misaki’s lower lip was twitching, while his own curved up in delight. Misaki’s fingers remained still, and he looked almost terrified, because Saruhiko looked as if he had realized _fucking_ _something_ , and the bastard was grinning and nudging him slowly and pressing his shoulder against his own and—

“You thought I wanted a kiss.”

_Well fuck it—why should that be embarrassing? Why is it a big deal, anyway?_

There were no such words in the dictionary they knew, but sometimes, Misaki wanted to flip through all of its pages and burn them in the process without having Saruhiko laugh at him for doing so.

“Just—quit it.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Mi—sa—ki~.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, why’d you get so defensive?”

“Seriously? I said _shut up_. It’s just that you always look like you’re planning something behind everyone’s back like a fucking cat, I just—I just thought you wanted some attention,” Misaki eventually confessed, but it did nothing to repel Saruhiko’s persistent smirk. “What’s the big deal,” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

“You thought I wanted you to kiss me,” Saruhiko insisted.

_Fine_. “That’s it, damn monkey,“ he decided as he wiggled his body to get rid of Saruhiko’s weight, kicking the sheets and turning his back to the other to lay on his side, facing his more docile and definitely less annoying wood nightstand. “Go sleep on the fucking couch.”

Saruhiko didn’t stop him, lifting his arm as he let him go and allowing himself a chuckle. As Misaki turned back to his game —uncomfortably, though, since he was only able to move one of his hands without any real constriction— Saruhiko simply stared at him. When the mood cooled down, he spoke again.

“Well, how about you kiss me for real?” he asked to Misaki’s back, “Take it as an invitation, ne?”

“Shut up. I can kiss you whenever I want,” Misaki quickly retaliated.

“Then why don’t you, now.”

“... I have my reasons.”

“Reasons, huh,” he chanted, “like secrets?”

For some reason, Misaki didn’t like the sound of that and bent his neck to look at him. “There aren’t secret between us.”

“Hm, I beg to differ though,” Saruhiko retorted. His smile was gone when he settled against the redhead’s back — _that monkey isn’t about to give up, isn’t he_ — and hooked an arm around Misaki’s waist. “Don’t you have any secrets, Mi—sa—ki? Because I think you dohave some, you know,” Misaki jerked slightly against his chest when the taunting tone intruded his eardrums and Saruhiko’s lips brushed against a flushed earlobe, as he whispered in a soft, raspy voice that sent shivers down his neck, “Some unfortunate,” and his back, “Dirty, little secrets,” and he realized the intimacy was doing weird things to him because he found himself reflexively curling up.

He wore a face that looked as if he was fed up with Saruhiko’s jokes, but part of him actually reconsidered his initial question.

Did he? Did he have any secrets?

Which kind of secrets, anyway?

Did Saruhiko mean the _I have a soft heart for certain things_ kind of secret? Or the _we both have problems exposing some of our feelings_ kind of secret? Or the _stop that thing you’re doing with your mouth so I don’t have to imagine your face in another context that I’d be ashamed to admit it’s kind of_ —

That kind of secret, maybe.

_Dammit, Saru._

The sudden silence forced Saruhiko to crane his neck and check if Misaki was still awake—he was. He retreated with a sigh though, after deciding the redhead might have had enough when he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“And for the record, I don’t need to _plan_ anything behind your back, Misaki,” he detached from the warmth of Misaki’s back and lay on his own, letting his body slump back to the bed as he raised a hand to his forehead, holding back the hair that usually fell across his face. “I could tell you right in your face and you’d still be too dense to figure anything out.”

“O-oi—”

“Tell me, Misaki,” he interrupted, his high tone completely eclipsing Misaki’s unfinished statement. “We’ve been together for a while now, so... what am I planning—if I _am_ planning something?”

“L-like hell if I know.” _You tell me, dumbass. Stop being so enigmatic all the time._

“You aren’t even trying,” Saruhiko protested in a peculiar dreary tone.

Misaki eyed him from the corner of his eyes and watched those long fingers against that rebellious hair and the dull shine in Saruhiko’s eyes as they stared at the ceiling with an expression that didn’t match his previous challenge of sorts. Once he made sure the other wasn’t going to incite him with provoking words anymore, he placed his game console on his nightstand and sat up.

“Tch.”

The all too familiar annoyance prickled his nerves until it reached his limbs, making him turn and rise from the mattress to balance his weight on his knees and hands as he hovered over Saruhiko’s relaxed frame, enclosing him between the bed sheets and his body. Saruhiko didn’t exactly look _that_ surprised, but the way his eyebrows struggled not to arch in curiosity told Misaki he wasn’t expecting anything from him.

“What are you doing,” Saruhiko murmured, any vestige of interest carefully hidden and detached from his voice.

“This,” Misaki asked, brow knit together in a stern expression, but his great deed still didn’t stop him from stuttering, “w-what you planned... is this, r-right?”

Saruhiko could only blink while he gazed up with his eyes wide open and lips apart, and realized he had been gawking when his mouth turned too dry. Pressing his lips together, he quickly replaced his initial surprise with a half-smile, and greater uncertainty.

“Who knows.” _No. Yes? Not really, but it is always so enticing to see what you think you’re able to do._

How impressive. He could imagine how their conversation turned out to be a provocation in Misaki’s eyes; Misaki would probably complain about how Saruhiko just had that effect implicit in most of what he said, did he not?

“Isn’t it more fun this way?” he added, unconcerned.

Misaki’s lips twisted into a scowl, “Your concept of what’s fun is really twisted, sometimes.”

Saruhiko chuckled —because _aren’t you’re with me, so aren’t you, a little, too?_ — and propped himself on his elbow to set his glasses on the nightstand. “You should know.”

“R-right.”

“So?”

Misaki hesitated, as if not expecting anything. “What?”

“What now?”

“W-what?” Misaki repeated.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue and resisted the urge to push his boyfriend away and smash his console against the wall to bring a more spirited reaction out of him. “Seriously, are you really that naïve,” he sighed, and before Misaki could protest, he raised a hand to Misaki’s face, brushing a lock of that soft, fiery hair behind his ear. “ _Misaki_.”

Oh. _Oh._ Right, the thing Saruhiko was planning.

It was the way Saruhiko licked his lips right after humming his name with such... devotion, or so Misaki thought.

Or the way his arms wrapped around Misaki’s neck as he surrendered, let himself be pulled down, before asking, just to be sure, “Are you really awake?”

Saruhiko spoke into his neck. “Mm. It will be... in a moment. I’ll leave it up to you, if you want to.”

“What’llbe—” Misaki paused at the realization, and the sudden embarrassment swashed over him once more. “Oh my God, shut up.”

The huff Saruhiko let out against him sounded like a genuine, little laugh. “Shall we?” He then coaxed into his ear, already feeling Misaki’s feverish cheek warming his own.

Misaki slowly rose from their embrace and sat back on his knees, but didn’t do much except contemplating the situation he got himself into on his own while boasting about his instincts of domination, when the only thing he could efficiently do at the moment was stare back at his boyfriend. And even Saruhiko seemed to be doing a much better job at just looking at him, really. Nevertheless, he wanted to keep going, and already feeling the familiar tickling heat at the pit of his stomach, his fingers curled around the waistband of Saruhiko’s pants.

He remained still for few seconds, waiting for some kind of reprimand or warning that never came—which meant this was what Saruhiko had in mind, right? Or at least the kind of improvisational event they had both come up with, anyway.

How much could a seemingly simple question affect him? A lot, apparently.

Misaki shook his head once, repelling any distraction from his thoughts. He stayed in place, but lowered his head and felt the corners of his mouth perk up. Saruhiko watched him bite his lip, to suppress a grin apparently, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Misaki?”

When he lifted his head again, he affirmed with a grin, confidently, “But you did want me to kiss you.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, as if that had irritated him greatly, and didn’t bother giving him the satisfaction of answering—which had the opposite effect, actually, and Misaki was thrilled to have Saruhiko admit he had hit the nail on the head with his silence. Instead, he took his hands to the back of his neck and pulled at the collar of his shirt, ready to take it off.

Misaki’s reaction was faster, however, and he instinctively lunged forwards to clutch Saruhiko’s wrists in a tight grip before giving him the chance to free his head, blessing his boyfriend’s preference for long-sleeve t-shirts.

And... it was an amusing sight.

“Hey.” Saruhiko complained, but the fabric against his lips muffled his protest.

It _was_ amusing; Misaki wasn’t going to deny it. His lips curved upwards slightly, but he didn’t laugh. He parted his knees further on Saruhiko’s sides and rested his free hand against the muscles of Saruhiko’s bare abdomen, mesmerized when they momentarily tensed and relaxed under his fingertips.

His smile was replaced with a frown when he followed the length of Saruhiko’s upper arm and noticed a bruise in the inner side, fresh and red. _It was new_ and mocking how much it was starting to look like the scarred HOMRA’s insignia beneath his left collarbone. And Misaki was mad because he knew Saruhiko wasn’t that reckless, so someone must have been giving him hell at work; nothing that he couldn’t handle, but still.

“Misaki.”

He didn’t realize he had been staring for a decent amount of time, enough for Saruhiko to begin to lose his patience—because he couldn’t fucking see and his arms and head were absurdly trapped in his own shirt, _how stupidly vulnerable he must look_ , and he got impatient, if the limbs fighting against Misaki’s grip were of any indication.

“What the fuck, Misa—”

“Easy,” Misaki soothed just in time as he bent and tugged at the fabric on Saruhiko’s face, just enough to reveal his lips, and kissed him.

Now, _that_ was a kiss.

Saruhiko didn’t need his eyes to feel the smile in Misaki’s lips, stretching against his mouth. And Misaki kept smiling, because _what the fuck,_ he was looking at him, wasn’t he, just like the idiot made sure Misaki did for the past six years. And because Saruhiko couldn’t stand to be _looked at_ under Misaki’s conditions.

They kissed delicately at first, content with just caressing the flesh of their lips, but when their mouths parted and their tongues touched, there was no teasing. They didn’t waste their time with provocative gestures, and sought each other, licking, sucking and tasting the other’s mouth as best as they could. It was nearly impossible to move any closer, but they still tried; Saruhiko still pressed up into the kiss with what little strength he could muster without relying on his arms, and Misaki pushed him down possessively, growling into his mouth as he slowly relaxed his grip, letting go of Saruhiko’s wrists to slide his hands over his arms, past that haughty bruise, feeling and cupping his triceps in his palms—he liked doing that.

And once freed, Saruhiko was able to move, but the shirt didn’t come off immediately; oh, it could though, he was no novice at multitasking and Misaki wasn’t really holding him back anymore, but he was busy keeping up with Misaki’s rhythm, busy angling his head and catching Misaki’s upper lip between his teeth. Busy with _Misaki_ , and no task in the world was as or more important than the redhead himself.

They were both slightly flushed, gasping for air when Misaki decided when to pull apart. Mentally patting his own back, he pressed one last kiss against Saruhiko’s pouty mouth and braced his hands on either sides of his boyfriend’s head, never moving from his lap.

Saruhiko then took his time to pull the rest of his shirt off —finally— and discard it somewhere on the bed. Misaki noticed he wasn’t as fast as he would have been in different circumstances. The results, however, were definitely worth the wait.

Saruhiko’s face looked swashed with a stream of some divine drowsiness, if there was such thing, while his pallid lips had turned a naughty pink color, and his hair was a complete mess, courtesy of the redhead’s mischief. His heavy-lidded eyes, hidden behind ridiculously long eyelashes, gazed attentively at him, making Misaki’s stomach flutter in excitement. The sight was just delectable in his eyes. And they’ve only been kissing.

_How’s that kiss for you, huh?_

As much as he would have loved to flaunt, it was only a matter of time, he believed, before Saruhiko retaliated with some commentary that might probably break the tension he had proudly built so far, and he couldn’t give him the chance.

“Heh,” Misaki grinned, taking the opportunity to test the state of his voice, and showed he had learnt to imitate his partner, because the uncharacteristic low tone in his voice mimicked that irritating timbre the swordsman usually kept for him. “What? You forgot how to kiss?”

Saruhiko’s eyes widened; the sudden change of attitude —that, and having been momentarily practically blindfolded— muddled him. But he quickly masked his surprise, like he almost always did, with a pair of half-closed eyes as he lazily traced his fingers along Misaki’s forearm.

“Hm, why, is a virgin going to teach me now?” His trademark smirk was back on his lips, bright and defiant as he looked up, silently declaring that he didn’t need his sight to be in control before, nor did he need it now.

Misaki wasn’t so sure about that, really, and gathered all of his courage to reply with the same defiance he got, leaning over and letting his hot breathing linger dangerously close against Saruhiko’s ear. Trusting his voice wouldn’t betray him and keep his boldness intact, one of his hands wandered across Saruhiko’s stomach before hooking his fingers on the hem of his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, guess what,” Misaki was no expert _yet_ , but he was kind of aware when he had done something _good_ ; it was like some ninth, tenth sense he had, between the many he developed when he started dating this man. “Heard it all before,” he murmured cockily and let his confidence guide his movements as he played with Saruhiko’s waistband. Despite the sudden income of conviction, Misaki’s heart hammered against his chest as the back of his fingers caressed the light trail of hair on Saruhiko’s pelvis, and he attempted to fight the trembling in his lips by keeping his mouth busy, peppering light, silent kisses along the side of Saruhiko’s neck and allowing himself a firm smirk when he saw him swallow and bite his lip—Saruhiko’s confident smile slowly collapsing.

Misaki wasn’t doing more than just barely brushing his lips against the juncture between Saruhiko’s ear and neck, but he had him slowly, very slowly, giving in and shifting his hips up slightly, giving him the urgent signal to _go on_. Misaki complied and finally tugged at Saruhiko’s pants when the other lifted his hips, sliding them off as he pulled away.

He got a little overexcited when he noticed Saruhiko wearing one of the many pair of boxers he had picked specially for him; black ones with the subtle gray lines on the sides, just barely noticeable because Saruhiko was a gloomy individual and didn’t want any flashy color in his underwear that could stun him and burn his gloomy retinas through the lens of his gloomy glasses.

Saru exaggerated a lot, sometimes.

Moreover, Saruhiko didn’t really understand what big appeal there was in getting interesting patterns in his underwear, if no one but Misaki was going to see it, and, much to his dismay, the coworkers whom he occasionally had to share the shower rooms with, a fact that disgusted him —even with cubicles in-between, he’d prefer to sneak into his and Misaki’s apartment— and also a fact that urged Misaki to tell him to _go,_ _honey_ , and have more social life, because having to share the showers with other men wasn’t that bad. But also a fact that made the redhead regret having said that, a bit, because when he really thought it through, having to share the showers with other men that looked as presentable —somehow?— as his boyfriend, with their enviable muscles and super defined six-packs and whatnot, and, why not, a suspicious-looking Blue King —what Misaki considered ‘suspicious’, anyway—, was suddenly, yeah, sort of _that_ _bad_ , even though he trusted Saruhiko.

Misaki also exaggerated a lot.

It could be worse, like the one time his imagination had run wild right after they reunited together. Only then he had slowly come to realize that Saruhiko had spent most of his after-school days and the years after that with _those_ people, enough for him to imagine more than one single pessimistic thing.

Misaki was still examining him when Saruhiko caught his breath. “I hope this isn’t some trick to distract me,” there was a playful spark and no malice in his reprimand, “from your secrets, Misaki.”

Once he got the redhead’s attention, he reached out and curled a finger under the hem of Misaki’s shirt, gesturing him to take it off, too. Misaki understood —didn’t want Saruhiko to think it wasn’t a fair match when he was the only one almost naked— and threw him a suggestive glance.

“Again with that?” Misaki’s fingers reached the collar of his shirt and pulled it off, the slight but present muscles of his chest judged under Saruhiko’s hungry gaze. “Thought you said that it was more fun this way,” he said confidently as he tossed the shirt away, and had to take a moment to focus and not think too much about how casually they were chatting and how he felt they were in equal terms now.

Somehow, slowly, it was starting to feel natural, easy, spontaneous even.

Saruhiko’s lips curved up. “Mm... I’ll have to be more careful with my words, then.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ll have to. You talk too damn much sometimes,” Misaki grinned.

Saruhiko raised an eyebrow at that. “Does it bother you, Misaki?”

“Nah,” he paused for a moment, “I have an excuse to shut you up.”

“Hm... as if you need an excuse.”

Misaki’s heart was still pounding frenziedly and he didn’t know where he was taking the strength from to think of so many witty comebacks, but he didn’t let the thought wander in his mind for too long as he took his pants off, and when he was back in his place, Saruhiko was watching him patiently, like a subordinate waiting for orders, with his arms slightly folded over his abdomen. Misaki found the scene endearing.

Bracing an elbow against the mattress, he leaned down and planted a kiss on the waiting pair of lips. Saruhiko’s hands instantly slid up to grip at his shoulders as one of his legs snaked around Misaki’s calf, and that sensation alone drove Misaki _crazy_. Feeling confident, he ran a hand across Saruhiko’s chest and brushed his thumb against one of his nipples, feeling it respond under his touch.

“ _Mm_ —”

Misaki kissed his cheek, his temple, and his cheek once again. Saruhiko turned his head, allowing him more space, and Misaki took the chance to catch an earlobe gently between his teeth, making Saruhiko drag a low moan from his throat.

“ _Ah_ —M-Misaki...”

Just as he was about to speak up again —an order or a plea, Misaki will never know— his hand drifted down and hovered over Saruhiko’s waist. Descending further, he reached that boring underwear and palmed Saruhiko’s erection, squeezing it with gentle fingers and eliciting the most sensual moan out of his boyfriend’s lips. Saruhiko closed his eyes in anticipation and buried his face in the crook of Misaki’s neck, open-mouthed as he dug his nails into the lightly but perfectly tanned skin of the redhead’s shoulders.

Encouraged by the pleased sounds ringing through his ears and the warm puffs of air dampening his neck, Misaki kept pressing his palm between Saruhiko’s thighs and stroking the tip through the fabric. Saruhiko didn’t try to hide his arousal anymore, pressing himself eagerly against his hand— _Misaki’s hand_. It was so idiotically corny, he thought, how he reveled in the fact that it was the redhead touching him and loving him.

Misaki kissed his temple one last time before removing his hand, and tapped his fingers lightly against Saruhiko’s hip to call for his attention. Saruhiko reopened his eyes and loosened his grip, allowing the other to sit up and reach toward the nightstand without budging from his place, and to unthinkingly offer Saruhiko a rather pleasant sight that had him licking his lips in appreciation at the redhead’s slight muscles flexing on his torso.

 Physically, he might be a hot-headed, impetuous shorty, but he had nothing to envy to anyone.

Misaki’s body jolted slightly when he took the little transparent bottle of lube from one of the drawers and felt Saruhiko’s fingernails graze across his inner thighs.

Saruhiko’s thin lips had curled into a petite smile, and Misaki raised an eyebrow, mildly confused at the sudden enjoyment in his expression.

“—!”

He didn’t know why, but there was _something_ about the way Saruhiko was indecently sneaking his fingers into the hem of his underwear that turned him on even more, and when that wicked hand disappeared beneath the fabric, firmly running up and down the length of his erection, Misaki couldn’t help his hips from rocking back and forth instinctively.

Somehow, watching that hand’s sinuous motions underneath the fabric, and praying his knees didn’t buckle so he could keep those fingers in place—it didn’t look good, or wrong. Just naughty enough for him. Honestly, he couldn’t care less. But it turned him on.

“Nnh—” _Wrong or not—fuck, keep doing that._

Saruhiko noticed the sudden stillness and the spark of arousal in Misaki’s eyes, if not something akin to it. “What’s wrong, now?”

“Just,” Misaki’s cheeks flushed a light, rosy shade, and, _fuck_ , he was still stroking him. “Th-the usual. You, what else,” he gritted out.

Pleased with the answer, Saruhiko hummed quietly as he halted the movement of his hand. “Why don’t you fix that.”

And as if his previous little scene hadn’t been indecent enough for Misaki’s eyes, Saruhiko slowly dragged his hand over the waistband of his own boxers, temptingly raising his hips just enough to slide them down between Misaki’s thighs and right below his glazed stare. Drawing his knees up, helping the fabric fall along his legs, he deliberately pressed them against the redhead’s groin.

“Hm?” He tipped his head to the side lazily. “Up.”

Blindly obeying, Misaki barely straightened from his position but left Saruhiko enough space to fully flex his knees and pull them up to his chest so he could lay them at the redhead’s sides. His eyes immediately diverted from Misaki’s blank stare to the bottle between his fingers. Misaki took that as the signal he needed, sitting and hoisting Saruhiko’s thighs up on top of his own to settle between his slightly bent legs. He unrolled the lid with his thumb and covered the pad of his fingers with some of the fresh, oily liquid. His expertise was still unsophisticated and a few elusive drops went astray, landing on Saruhiko’s groin.

He didn’t want to keep Saruhiko waiting, but his curiosity was slightly stronger and he looked up for a brief moment to catch his gaze fixed on his fingers. “Okay,” he breathed almost inaudibly to himself as he bowed his head, and Saruhiko blinked slowly and dreamily when Misaki’s hand inched closer.

Misaki’s fingertips tickled when they wandered between his thighs; they always did. The feeling lingered for a few fleeting seconds, until two slick digits circled around his entrance and one of them slipped inside, pushing past the muscle cautiously, gently; _he always is_. It didn’t hurt, but Saruhiko still spread his legs wider as he sucked in a load of air —he knew Misaki wanted to prepare him thoroughly— and clutched the sheets next to his head by instinct.

“Mm,” Saruhiko hummed as his deft fingers reached out and brushed tantalizingly against Misaki’s erection, in a plea for him to _come on_.

It was not the first time they did it. Their first time was... memorable, to say the least.

Misaki was gentle, too gentle, or a complete idiot, and curious, ridiculously curious. Thrilled with the fact that they were finally going to _do it_ , he took an excruciatingly long time to do _anything_ —touching and testing and probing and touching again, just for the sake of it— resulting in a very grumpy Saruhiko constantly sputtering death threats at him for not hurrying the fuck up—such harsh words sounded all too genuine, but passed almost unnoticed by Misaki’s ears. Saruhiko couldn’t quite understand how the redhead could even stand having a hard-on against his pants and still take his damn time in asking his fingers for permission for where to touch next. Feeling he _had_ to take the matter into his hands, Saruhiko instructed him later, almost in an imploring way—whatever was necessary to make Misaki do something.

It got better though, and Misaki gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘faster’ when they almost fell off the bed in the middle of their ecstasy and Saruhiko suddenly understood why he was being extra careful with him before. They ended up tangled in their arms, with their shoulders trembling visibly as they laughed into each other’s neck.

It had its ups and down, but they had both enjoyed it in the end.

Now, Misaki’s brow furrowed and he looked utterly concentrated —as if he had been repressing his own urges for the sake of Saruhiko’s— as he slowly pulled half of his finger out to add another, prodding and twisting them deeper until they were buried to the knuckles. His thumb rubbed around the sensitive skin right above them, and the reaction was immediate. Saruhiko’s muscles contracted around him, but he still stayed silent, letting his sharp intakes of air speak for him. Misaki was always fascinated with Saruhiko’s pants, and couldn’t help but feel like a child admiring some brand-new toy, except Saru wasn’t a toy and he was charged with a priceless responsibility when he had the younger’s reactions hanging by the threads of each and every touch he did.

Misaki was the most gentle at times like this, even though he still couldn’t get rid of the knot between his eyebrows; he looked _mad_ even during their most intimate acts. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn’t believe Saruhiko could look so exposed, and lewd—who knew he could allow himself to look like that? Perhaps it was the way Saruhiko’s mouth opened and closed so shakily. The same mouth that, when pressed into a tight line, Misaki usually thought was getting ready to laugh at him, to stab his pride and swell his embarrassment, and that had always been a false excuse he used to catch Saruhiko’s lips with his own, because that would deny him the chance, or because he simply felt like kissing the man he loved, who now began to quiver and curl his toes beneath him.

But he liked, _loved_ to know he was pleasuring Saruhiko and making him moan into their kisses. He knew he had gotten better and was making the situation enjoyable without it being painful for neither of them. He liked that Saru wasn’t rushing him, that he was inducing little gasps and not insults, which meant he was doing a good job and that Saru was feeling good, too.

Soon enough, he added a third finger that managed to skim over his prostate, and one of Saruhiko’s hands instantly reached over his shoulder as he tensed his hips. Misaki’s pace never faltered and kept reaching for the same places that kept having his boyfriend thrash his head, determined to elicit more responses out of him, and when his other hand slid over Saruhiko’s groin to touch his erection, Saruhiko’s body arched in a way that had Misaki completely enraptured.

He had to hold the redhead’s wrist to slow the frantic speed to a halt. “ _Nnh_ —Mis _—_ Misaki.”

“Saru,” Misaki’s voice wavered. There was a hint of worry and guilt in his name as he stopped, hoping he wasn’t screwing up, fearing the stimulation was too much, thinking he should have slowed down, thinking, thinking, thinking, and _shit_ , maybe—

“Misaki...” _Always caring Misaki._ Saruhiko easily read him, even though his eyelids weighed down and prevented their eyes from meeting. His lips pressed into a tiny smile, swallowing the traces of his previous gasps of air. “Ah—‘s okay,” he reassured, “do it, now.”

“O-okay,” Misaki nodded, feeling the relief unleashing in his tensed muscles. When he carefully withdrew his fingers, Saruhiko’s arms wound around his neck unexpectedly, pulling him down and to his side. Misaki’s relaxed limbs made him lose his balance and fall, giving up control as Saruhiko’s palms pressed flat on the wall above the headboard while bracing himself on his knees, straddling the redhead without touching him yet.

Misaki was left momentarily puzzled, but he didn’t need to ask; he had known Saruhiko for a while to imagine what he might have in mind without the other having to speak up. Not that Saruhiko ever justified himself, anyway.

_This... is a new position._

Even if he wasn’t so sure, he still prompted his body upright with his elbows and the heels of his feet, quickly getting rid of his underwear in the meanwhile and never wanting to take his eyes away from Saruhiko’s clouded pair. He blindly rearranged the pillows behind his back as he sat up and crossed his legs loosely, until Saruhiko’s hips hovered right above his thighs.

The wait was almost nonexistent, and Misaki groaned through gritted teeth when Saruhiko drifted a hand down to pick the remains of lube on his thighs with a couple of his fingers and took the redhead’s erection in his palm, pumping his hand up and down to help him push inside him as he rolled his hips down.

It was always somewhat suffocating, the pleasure, but Misaki remembered it was as torturous to Saruhiko as it was for him, or even more, so his palms held onto the younger’s hips, brushing his thumbs against his waist as Saruhiko ground down, _down_ and closer. And tighter, not just because Misaki was slowly easing his way in, but because Saruhiko’s thighs were pressed firmly against his hips. The tremor shaking his body had Misaki on alert and despite the ardent pleasure pooling in his belly, he wanted to tell him to _wait_ , but the strangled whimper Saruhiko made was enough to reveal the fact the redhead was all the way inside, and Misaki bit his lip, resisting the urge to thrust up, and restricted himself to resting his hands on Saruhiko’s thighs.

“S-Saru...” Misaki shuddered when their bodies relaxed slightly. He could feel Saruhiko’s soft pants, too, filtering through his ears and skin and sending a heat rushing into his cheeks. “Hey, e-easy.”

Saruhiko managed a low moan in response. _There it was,_ the usual concern enveloping Misaki’s actions and caring touch once again. _So loving, so gentle._ He was nothing like those mediocre rumors flooding the street. They didn’t know a thing about him.

“Sa— _ngh_ ,” _Misaki_ , always caring Misaki, wanted to speak up, but his jaw tensed when Saruhiko’s muscles tightened around him and his short but sharp nails clawed at his sides. He instinctively arched his back inwards in response and let his forehead slump into Saruhiko’s shoulder.

He then realized Saruhiko was purring, which was enough to threaten to shatter his self-restraint.

If only—if only he was as insensitive as he claimed himself to be all the past years. If only the Yatagarasu lived up to the cruel legends built around him. If only he didn’t care and _moved_ before Saruhiko gave the order—

“Mi—saki...”

—he wouldn’t be able to see Saruhiko’s face crumbling, torn between an expression of need and vulnerability; wouldn’t be able to caress the dark locks covering his eyes and curl them behind his ear, or to lock his hand around Saruhiko’s nape and brush their lips together and swallow the breathy, husky “ _Hurry,_ ” that Saruhiko whispered into his mouth.

He would miss so many things, and he was done missing that many things.

When they parted, Misaki allowed himself to glance down, watching how their bodies remained connected. His hazy eyes came to focus when Saruhiko shifted in his position and leaned into his neck, grazing his teeth against the patch of skin between his ear and the auburn roots of his hair. “Move, Misaki,” he repeated, struggling to hold onto his knees to push up and start a rhythm. Misaki thought he couldn’t be begging, but it was something close enough. Once he was given the green light, he planned on complying, partially. They still had all the time they needed—until the discomfort started to ache.

He was still taking in the sight of a very flushed Saruhiko, from the curve of his shoulders and back, to the back of his legs, when Saruhiko shifted his hips, his frustration slowly building up, so much that he took the matter into his own hands, and swirled his hips again. He tried to move up and down, beginning to forge his own longing rhythm, irked by the clear lack of response on Misaki’s side.

It took all of Misaki’s self-control to tighten his grip on those hurried hips to stop him and slow him down, leaving Saruhiko’s frame trembling in anticipation and vaguely in irritation— _what was wrong with him_ , he wanted Misaki to hurry up and take him, but Misaki was too gentle, caring, or too cruel, or too idiot, or all of them. One learnt from the best, they said.

“ _Misaki_ ,” Saruhiko gritted out this time, his annoyance evident when his eyebrows furrowed in a glare.

“Sorry, just,” Misaki allowed himself a small laugh as his hands slid down and came to rest on Saruhiko’s backside, spreading his cheeks apart and finally bucking his own hips once, down and up, in a remarkably painfully slow motion. Saruhiko’s body shuddered beneath him, his vision almost blurring; there weren’t any tears in his eyes, but the somnolence of pleasure obfuscated his pupils and his eyelids pressed together because, _God_ , Misaki wasn’t necessarily huge —or yes, not that he would ever care to check that fact with anyone else— or tear-inducing, but the heat, the contact, the burning digits burying into his skin were, and the feeling made his stomach flutter even more when Misaki thrust up again, and again. “You look... great,” he gave a tiny, apologetic smile, as if it was a compliment he had been too shy to admit.

When Saruhiko’s mind regained its focus, he clicked his tongue lazily and looked away, as if he were too shy to take it.

“I mean—you always look great,” Misaki quickly corrected himself, in case Saruhiko had taken it as an offense to hear that _now_ and not—well, any other time. “Just sayin’.”

Saruhiko let out a shuddering breath, “ _Say that_ some other time.”

Misaki took that as a chance to use Saruhiko’s weapons against him, and replied in a half-hesitating, half-confident voice, “But that was... a secret, you know.”

That did the trick. Saruhiko’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing in a sad expression, and he turned to focus back on Misaki’s gaze. “Misaki...” He had been only joking, really, his previous taunting words merely being the proof of his wicked sense of humor, and nothing else. To think Misaki would _really_ keep something like _that_ as a secret was...

Assuming Saruhiko had more to say, Misaki brought one hand between them and held it in a quieting gesture. “Just... enjoy it, okay?” He rested it on Saruhiko’s chest for a moment before leaning forwards to kiss him once more. When Misaki brushed their lips together, Saruhiko responded meekly, and the whole act was deliberately slower than before, their tongues barely making it out of their mouths, just enough to reach one another without considerable pressure. It was unhurried and tender, but still exhilarating and with the suitable amount of longing to allow them to feel the increasing heat coming off their flesh and their slightly irregular breathing.

It turned needy, however, when Misaki sucked in a breath and his hands went back to Saruhiko’s backside and thrust his hips up with a decent amount of force—still pausing between each push, but with a more vigorous pace. That sparked a shuddering moan from Saruhiko, who broke the kiss first and clutched at Misaki’s shoulders before winding his arms around them and pressing the side of his face against the redhead’s. The closeness brought their chests together as his erection inevitably rubbed against Misaki’s belly.

“ _Ha-hah_ —Misaki,” he let out a shaky groan as he buried his fingers painfully in Misaki’s shoulders by reflex, desperate to hold onto him and for him to hold them both, too, unthinkingly believing he could abstain from the pleasure, but he couldn’t abstain from Misaki—no, there was something about physical contact he never quite came to grasp until recently, but if this was what yearning and release felt like, he’d let Misaki control it all, be the one responsible for his enjoyment.

“Misaki...” he called again in a mixture of a whine and a moan.

“S-Saru...” Misaki exhaled and fought against the trembling tugging at his muscles to keep his thrusts steady. It had become hard to control his laborious breathing, especially when the soft gasps melting into his ears reminded him over and over again what he was doing, how Saruhiko would probably want more soon, and how he wished to comply.

How he, too, would _need_ more.

_He probably looks so... sexy, or good, overall_ , Misaki affirmed in his mind, despite all he could see was a fraction of Saruhiko’s sinuous back twisting slightly as those hips ground tantalizing circles against him.

“Saru,” he went on, nudging his nose into the crook of Saruhiko’s neck.

_He smells good, too—_ he confirmed, too, just like he thought.

They needed more, Misaki decided, as he bore with the feeling of hanging on and pulled out completely so he could lean back further into the pillows at his back, just enough to retain the same position and keep his back still slightly upright, but with both of his legs stretched and then bent. His heels pressed onto the bed, counting on gaining more leverage to try a new angle. Saruhiko was about to speak up, but Misaki took his hips again and pushed up back into him, seeking it, reaching for it—

“Nnh— _A-ah_ —!”

The reaction was more than what he had expected —this was Saruhiko, after all—, but just as breathtaking. When Saruhiko threw his head back, eyes shut tight and mouth falling open, Misaki was sure to catch his nape in his palm and hold him and pull him closer to drag his lips against his exposed throat, nibbling at it with the edges of his teeth so softly that the tickling sensation bounced through Saruhiko’s chest and the pleasure reflected in the little twitch of his erection.

“ _Mm_ —saki... there, it’s—”

“Saru,” he murmured against his skin before pulling away, revering the sight before his eyes with the recurrent spike of lust tingling in the pit of his stomach. He drank in Saruhiko’s tensed muscles and shivering jaw, and was reminded of hard liquor—something he had tasted once that was just as flammable, just as hot and liquid and stinging as it was having his former childhood friend, whose brains compensated for his lack of stamina and vigor for life, succumbing to what _he_ was doing to him. _Him_ , and no one else.

Misaki felt his pride swell in his chest, concluding that, unlike liquor, he would gladly have _this_ more than once, with everything that came with it, including the sting and the ache; he would swallow it all, and it would be definitely worth it.

Saruhiko did look great.

Running a hand up and down his spine, unconsciously trying to move his partner’s body along the motion of his strokes, Misaki struggled to find the leverage he needed to better buck up into Saruhiko’s responsive hips. The traces of effort were evident in the way his tone wavered as he was finding difficult to keep a real rhythm. “I-Is—this good?”

“Mm,” Saruhiko breathed through his mouth, “’s good,” he replied sufficiently, and Misaki didn’t expect more, really. He knew better; there were no need for words when his eardrums were happily satiated by the sound of the brush of the sheets against their skin and their shallow breathing.

The view was even better. Saruhiko’s hair was dampened with sweat, inevitably sticking itself to his forehead and neck, an image that made the redhead bite his lips reflexively despite having just had a taste of it. With utmost concentration this time, Misaki tried to keep his thrusts more even, but his slithering, rushed motions made his feet slip _conveniently_ until his back lowered down to the mattress.

Making that one of the best unplanned decisions of the night.

He flinched a little when more of Saruhiko’s weight came down upon him and felt himself reaching even _deeper_ as he picked up speed. Saruhiko braced his palms on his chest to steady himself, and the tension of his thighs around Misaki’s loosened as he parted his legs wider, his knees both bringing his body up and down and rocking against him back and forth as they now pursued the same measured pace.

“Mm— _hah_ —Misaki...”

For someone who had been hung up about his name for a long time under certain circumstances, to hear it slipping past those lips right now didn’t feel that bad, especially when it was interrupted by little pants and the fresh sight of Saruhiko’s face contorted in pleasure and desire—accepting him, wanting it, _fuck_ , riding him for all he was worth, following the improvised rhythm they silently agreed on.

It felt surreal. Breathtaking.

It felt somewhat easier for Misaki to thrust up while he let Saruhiko do as he pleased, but it was slowly beginning to drain his boyfriend’s stamina; Saruhiko couldn’t hold on by himself for much longer and if not for the fact that his backside was being supported by Misaki’s thighs, he would have succumbed much sooner.

“Misaki... can’t...” Saruhiko eventually murmured in broken pants, eyes hazy and dark. No longer was his body able to rise, and completely incapable of feeling shame by now, his pace slowed down as he brought a hand past his stuttering waist and took his erection in a firm grip, stroking himself with desperate fingers.

Misaki watched him swirl his thumb around the tip and gather little beads of pre-cum before spreading them over his cock with his palm.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

With that image burned into the core of his memory, he moved a hand to Saruhiko’s lower back, who let out a surprised gasp when he was brought down without a word. Their chests met and their bellies swirled sweetly, tickling almost innocently against each other in their embrace. Misaki found he liked this position.

“Saru,” he breathed, a subtle warning before sliding his hands to Saruhiko’s backside and keeping him still as he planted his heels firmly on the bed. His confidence peaked and he allowed himself to slip his dick all the way out before thrusting back in and continuing with a frantic need.

“ _Nngh_ —” The more Saruhiko let out those whiny groans, the more Misaki’s scorching fingers dug into his skin. Without being given much of a chance to respond actively, he limited to hold onto the redhead and exhale against his neck, bearing with the fastening rhythm and the friction and that little swinging between pain and completion every fiber of his body desperately yearned for.

“Saru, c-close... almost—” Misaki stuttered out in a grunt as his thrusts fell out of rhythm and turned messy, more erratic and urgent, remorseless and _flawless_. He let go of Saruhiko’s cheeks to circle his arms tightly around his sweaty back and let his waist do the rest, for just a second, or two—he couldn’t know. “—f-fuck.”

Saruhiko’s strangled exhalation mingled with his and bounced into his ears, and Misaki lost it when he felt that hot tongue prod out and drag against his neck. He wanted to see that.

He had to see Saruhiko, more.

It took Misaki a firm measure of his control to roll them over and line himself up again. He thrust back in quickly, and following three shuddering rolls of his hips, he stilled and came with a choked cry and gritted teeth, his frenzied release blurring the corners of his vision; he saw no stars, however, but the sheen coating Saruhiko’s body with a sweet varnish of perspiration and redness, an enticing contrast against the strands of his black hair sprawled upon the mattress. His mouth dropped open slightly, barely able to repress the twitch of his lips, and one of his hands was clawing at the sheets tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Still no stars, but sure as hell heavenly enough.

Misaki’s eyes were still hazy but functional when he let go of his boyfriend’s hips and immediately took his momentarily neglected cock in his fingers, almost in a trance-like fashion. It earned him a moan that Saruhiko muffled by biting his lips—such a shame, but Misaki didn’t let that, not even the sticky weariness slowly clinging to him, make him miss a single detail of the way Saruhiko’s hips were shook by tiny waves of spasms. It was simply so fascinating it made his skin prickle with excitement and his heart leap in glee.

Misaki kept rolling his hips, languidly so while he came down from his climax, until they gave a little twitch—his body giving a little warning, the risky oscillation between oversensitivity and pain, and did he _almost_ prolonged the feeling, out of curiosity. He pumped his hand more rapidly then, half hurried, half entangled in the lecherous sounds of his palm rubbing against the slick flesh, and flinched visibly when Saruhiko tensed and clamped down on his softening cock. One last fervent stroke as Misaki grazed his nails up along his inner thigh was all the stimulation Saruhiko needed. His body shuddered violently on its own as he reached his peak and came over his stomach with half of Misaki’s name hanging in his throat.

_Fucking—wow._

With the cold sweat drying into his skin and the lucidity gradually returning to his nerves, Misaki placed a shaky hand above Saruhiko’s pelvis as he carefully pulled out of him. For just a couple of fleeting seconds, his eyes caught the viscous traces between Saruhiko’s thighs, and that was the last thing he saw before he felt his muscles turn into lead and pull him down, boneless and drained, beside him.

Watching Saruhiko pull his eyelids down and his chest rise and fall in a slow, steady motion made him smile fondly and close his eyes as well. “Hah... wow,” he paused, contemplating how to word his thoughts, “that’s gotta be the best sex we’ve ever had.”

Saruhiko reopened his and stared at the ceiling for a moment, before replying with slow-paced words, too drained to attach any emotion to them. “So you can say _sex_ , after all.”

In the heat of the moment, Misaki hadn’t noticed he did. “Shut up, Saru,” he responded, unconcerned and with no real conviction, either. He then turned his gaze to his side and lifted a hand to brush Saruhiko’s jaw with the tip of his fingers. “And you... could say something, too.”

It took some seconds before Saruhiko turned his head and faced Misaki with a puzzled look, or the best he could offer at the moment. The lethargy impeded him from even raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Misaki shifted closer and nuzzled his nose against Saruhiko’s shoulder, finding the scent there absolutely captivating—a mixture of jasmine soap and Saruhiko’s own personal brand of _him_ that the redhead breathed in with a deep sigh. “Nothing,” he murmured.

When they finally caught their breath, Misaki rose and braced his weight on one elbow while his free hand reached for Saruhiko’s hipbone and brushed his thumb against it in apologetic strokes as he leaned down to kiss him. Saruhiko reciprocated it by stretching his neck to help close the distance and join their mouths together, softly and without haste. They both drank in the tender affection from the other’s warm lips.

Misaki pulled back but remained close-and-far enough for Saruhiko to be able make out his face. “Let’s shower. And take off the sheets later.” He knew he would suggest it sooner or later, anyway. As expected, Saruhiko didn’t turn the offer down, and hummed in agreement before pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

Misaki reached towards him instinctively and wound his arms around his chest. He felt his face warm up instantly when he pressed his cheek against his back, and looked up with a bright smile and half-lidded eyes glinting with a slight pretense of defiance. “So, this was... I mean, what we just... you totally knew, right?”

How was he supposed to know if an amazing session of lovemaking was what he really had in mind from the beginning?

There was a hint of a curve tugging at Saruhiko’s lips before he took his eyes away from Misaki’s gaze to pick up his glasses. The tip of his sluggish fingers danced across the back of the redhead’s hands as he replied with a bit of a playful tone, “Who knows.”

_Hah, should’ve known._

Not the most proper answer, but one that would suffice.

Misaki let out an airy laugh in response. “Yeah, right.”

Who cared, anyway?

“Misaki.”

Misaki lifted his head with a small pinch of curiosity, smile still wide on his lips. “What?”

“I’ve always liked your food.”

Saruhiko could be so dense, in his way, unable to form sweet words with those sharp lips of his. But this was good enough to make Misaki’s pride swell higher, and content. His embrace grew tighter.

“Damn right you do.”


End file.
